Growing Pains
by youaremarvelous
Summary: A series of one-shots about the evolving relationship between a boss and his lackey.
1. Flu

Romano sat on the kitchen floor, pouting as he stared at the mess around him. 'Just like that damn Spain to leave me at home to clean while he goes out and plays with Veneziano,' he thought to himself grumpily. His frown deepened when he heard the front door open.

"I'm home Romano!" Spain called out happily, and I brought your brother over for dinner!" The boy was admittedly pleased to see his estranged brother, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Spain know that.

"Ask me before you invite guests over, Jerk Spain!" Romano huffed, pulling himself to his feet and kicking the dustpan across the floor for impact.

Spain made his way into the disheveled kitchen and sighed deeply, "Romano, I thought I asked you to clean while I was gone," he chastised.

Anger boiled in the Italian as he watched his brother innocently peek around the corner, "Ve~, big brother never has been very good at straightening" he added.

"Who the hell asked you?" Romano stomped his foot in disbelief that his brother would come all the way to Spain just to criticize his housekeeping skills.

"Ita's good at it, though," Spain looked down at Veneziano and smiled wildly. "If only you were more like your brother, Romano." He sighed wistfully.

"You damn bastard!" Romano screamed, anger creeping through his veins.

"Ve~, everyone should be more like me!" Veneziano agreed.

"Ok, I'll try!" Spain nodded, smiling before he placed his hands on his cheeks and started pulling the skin from his skull.

Romano backed into the kitchen counter, "wh-what are you doing, idiot?" He sputtered madly as Spain succeeded in ripping off his skin, revealing the face of Veneziano beneath it.

"Ve~ it worked!" Spain cheered happily. He and Veneziano grinned at each other stupidly before turning to Romano.

The small Italian felt his heart thump heavily against his chest as their once cheery faces suddenly turned sinister. They slowly made their way towards him, each step echoing a hundred times in the quickly expanding room. Romano felt himself shrink weakly to his knees as he covered his eyes with his hands, "S-stay away!" He wailed. "I want to keep my face!"

"But Romano," Spain slurred, sounding not at all that friendly boss he normally was, "don't you know this is what will make me happy? Don't you want to be a good lackey?"

"Ve, yeah Romano, don't you care about your boss' needs?" Veneziano joined.

Romano shook as their outstretched arms reached closer and closer, a cold finger brushed his face before he closed his eyes and wailed with all his might.

* * *

Romano awoke with a scream, struggling to stay in bed as his legs jerked around wildly. He willed his heart to stop pounding against his chest and slowly the movement in his legs dissipated to a slight tremor. He sat up slowly as the panic flooded away, his body was drenched in sweat and his stomach rolled dangerously with every movement.

"Spain," he called out impulsively, too quietly for the older nation to hear him. The realization of how sick he felt made Romano suddenly aware of how alone he was in the big dark room, and he found himself overwhelmed with the sudden need to be comforted. Without thinking, he swung his short legs over the bed, feeling sore and nauseous from the effort. Stars danced before his eyes as he took a few steps forward, he almost made it to the door before he started feeling lightheaded and had to steady himself on the dresser by the door. After a few deep breaths he finally made his way out of the room, brushing a hand against the wall to steady himself as he navigated his way down the dark passageways. "S-stupid bastard and his s-stupid huge house," he muttered, sniffling as he padded his way to his caretaker's room. He didn't want to cry but he the overwhelming sensations of nausea and loneliness made a few hot tears slip down his cheeks despite his best efforts.

Finally he made his way to the Spaniard's room. He reached up to grab the knob but found it locked and instead had to weakly thump on the door. He leaned his ear forward and listened intently but heard no movement, the bastard didn't care about him, he was just like Austria. 'He'll probably just lay quietly in his bed till I give up and leave him alone,' Romano thought bitterly. Convinced that Spain wasn't coming, the small country started hiccuping in exasperation as tears flooded his eyes. Pressure started to build in his head from crying and he swayed as his stomach clenched dangerously. The boy wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or black-out, but his pride told him neither should be done in front of the damn Spaniard's door. He had just decided to make his way to the closest bathroom when an intense throbbing pain in his stomach made him fall to his knees and cry out in pain. His heart beat wildly against his chest as he felt bile force its way up his throat and out of his mouth the cold hardwood below.

"Spain," he cried out between hacks, dignity forgotten as the overwhelming need to be comforted overcame him once more. Thankfully, this time he heard rustling around in the bedroom and he sniffed back some tears as light suddenly filled the frame of the door. He turned his head from the sudden brightness and caught sight of the pile of sick on the floor, now newly illuminated. The image made his stomach flip painfully and he shook in shock as a heave wracked it's way out of his mouth. 'Nononono' his mind raced wildly. He didn't want to vomit again, especially in front of his caretaker.

Romano realized that he had no choice in the matter as the he continued to heave, eventually producing more hot and sour vomit as the door finally clicked open. "Dios mio, Lovinito," a sympathetic voice sounded. Shivers quaked up the Italian's spine as he felt hands brush his matted hair away from his sweat-soaked face. The vomiting finally ebbed into wet coughing, leaving tears trickling down Romano's red cheeks from both the effort and the embarrassment. He moved a small fist to his eyes, desperate to hide the fact that he was crying, but a sob made it's way out of his mouth despite himself.

"Shh, don't cry mi tomate, it's ok," Spain cooed softly, wrapping his arms around his small ward and lifting him from the ground with little effort. Sidestepping the puddle on the floor, he carried the young boy into his room, laying him on the bed as he placed a warm palm on his forehead. Heat radiated off the boy's face and a frown flickered across Spain's mouth.

"Spain, it's cold," Romano sniffed, shivering to prove his point.

"I know, but we need to change your clothes before you get tucked in, you're all sweaty." Antonio smiled lightly, combing his fingers through the small boy's hair. "Will you be ok for a minute if I go to your room to get some new ones?"

Romano's heart skipped a beat, his pride told him to curse the bastard out and tell him of course he'd be fine, but the truth was he didn't want Antonio to leave. He didn't want to get sick again without him there, he needed his presence to comfort him. Conflicted, he just decided not to answer, the Spaniard could do what he wanted.

This was the wrong decision he realized, as Spain, dense as always, took the silence as affirmation and ruffled his henchman's hair one last time before exiting the room. The heat that Romano had felt from the brief contact was quickly replaced by an overwhelming coldness as he found himself alone once more. Without Spain's presence to distract him, he started to concentrate on the soreness in his limbs and the nausea still plaguing his stomach. He pushed himself into a sitting position as the familiar feeling of gastric mutiny started overwhelm him. His head hurt so bad, the dim side-table lamp seemed to be stabbing his eyes with beams of light and his head throbbed painfully in protest. He didn't want to be alone, his mind and heart raced. He hurt so bad and he didn't want to throw up again. His right hand started to twitch in understanding of it's owner's stressed state.

Romano thumped his head back onto the headboard, frustrated by his body's inability to listen to any of its commands. "Stop," he whined pathetically at his hand as it moved more and more frantically as if playing an unheard tune. The jerking movement furthered the discomfort in Romano's churning gut, he shuddered at the idea of vomiting on Spain's bed, he had suffered enough humiliation tonight. "Why won't you listen to me?" He shouted as forcefully as his pathetic state would allow.

"What's that?" A gentle voice sounded. Romano's eyes flew open, the sight of the Spaniard's kind face immediately comforted him, but he fought to keep his expression as miserable-looking as possible. He turned his head to the doorway and realized that the sick had been cleaned off the floor, who knew how long Spain had been just outside the doorway listening as the boy sniffed and huffed at his inability to control his body. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he felt strong fingers grasp his chin and tenderly pull his head back so a cool washcloth could be wiped over his face. "Is it ok if I change you, Lovi?" Spain asked, knowing better than to do it without the hot-tempered boy's permission.

Roman's cheeks burned hotter, "of course not pervert, I'm big enough to do it myself," he muttered in faked indignation.

"Right, right, of course," Spain laughed, smiling sympathetically as he watched the small boy struggle to keep his balance after crawling off the bed. "Maybe you could let boss help you, as a favor to him, so he doesn't feel useless," Spain suggested, incapable of watching Romano struggle to unbutton his nightshirt with a wildly-jerking right hand. The Italian huffed angrily as an ill-timed twitch popped a seam and sent a button clattering to the floor. "Fine, I don't want you to cry about it or anything," Romano snapped, dropping his hands to his sides as Spain scurried over to finish the job.

Spain couldn't help but notice how ghostly pale his lackey's skin was as he finished unbuttoning the pajama top and pulled it off Romano's slender shoulders. 'He's ice cold,' Spain fretted as he balled the sweaty piece of clothing between his hands and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder. He reached a hand up over the bed to grab the fresh pair of pajamas sitting on it and had just started to pull off the small boy's bottoms when he saw his stomach clench. He glanced up at Romano's face, all the color had drained from his cheeks and he held a hand tightly over his mouth. Without hesitating Spain pushed the clean pajamas away and grabbed the small trash can he had thankfully, in a rare moment of foresight, placed next to the bed. As soon as the bin was placed under Romano's mouth he leaned forward and retched, sobbing pitifully as sour bile dripped from his mouth and nostrils.

"It's ok my cute little Lovi, get it all out, you'll feel better." He encouraged, rubbing circles on the boy's convulsing back. Romano felt dizzy as the heaving finally gave way to wet coughs. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and, dammit, when had the room become so hot? Color and sound blended together as he felt himself slump to the floor below.

"Woah there," Spain called out, scooting the trash can out of the way as he slipped one hand beneath the boy's armpit to hoist him back to his feet. Fear flickered in his heart as he watched Romano's head loll to the side. "Romano?" He asked, straining to keep the panic out of his voice. "Romano," he called again when he received no answer. "Romano, are you awake?"

The boy finally sniffled in response, struggling to pull his head up so he could look his caregiver in the eyes. "It hurts so bad, please don't leave," he cried in a rare moment of honesty. Spain knew the boy was delirious from fever, but his heart melted at the words and he pulled his lackey into a gentle embrace. He slipped an arm under Romano's bottom and hoisted himself up, resting his chin on the small boy's head as he rocked him gently back and forth. He rubbed his back soothingly and hummed. After a while he felt the body in his arms relax and he gently lowered him to the bed below. He pulled the covers around the sleeping boy and traced his finger down a tear-stained cheek as he smiled sadly to himself.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lovi, I promise you," he whispered to the unconscious boy. "I'll be here for you forever, my little tomate."


	2. Bicycle

"Jerk Spain, are you even listening to me?" Romano raged, crossing his arms and pouting as deeply as his face would allow.

Spain turned from his work preening the garden and walked over to where Romano stood to place some ripe tomatoes in a large whicker basket. "Of course mi tomate, you said Veneziano got a cool new bicycle!" Spain smiled to his henchman, wiping sweat from his forehead before heading back to his work.

Romano balled his hands and threw them to his sides, stomping his foot for effect. "That is NOT what I said you bastard." He yelled, marching over to his caretaker to make sure he wasn't ignored. "I said," he reiterated, tugging on Spain's pants to keep his attention, "wouldn't it be useful if I got a bicycle as well?"

Spain laughed at this and Romano's cheeks turned scarlet from anger. "Useful? How do you mean? Don't you enjoy walking to town with boss? Why do you need a bicycle?"

"L-lots of reasons," Romano insisted.

"Name one," Spain implored, finding great pleasure in teasing his hot-tempered lackey.

"W-well," Romano began, looking to the ground as if an answer could be found there, "I could get places faster!" He concluded proudly.

Spain tilted his head in contemplation, "but you never go anywhere without me, unless you're running away that is, and I certainly don't want you to do that any faster!" He laughed, ruffling Romano's hair to the Italian's irritation.

"Well maybe if I had a bicycle I would," Romano growled. "The only reason I let you come with me places is so you can hold me if I get tired, but if I had a bike I'd get there so fast I wouldn't have a chance to get tired."

Both Romano and Spain realized the fault in that argument because, obviously, riding a bike took considerably more energy than walking, even if you did make it to your destination more quickly. Spain was about to point this out when he glanced down at Romano's chubby red cheeks and downward-facing hazel eyes. For a minute he let his mind wander, pondering how cute his little henchman would look smiling and laughing while he pedaled around on a tiny bike. His eyes glossed over in happiness and he only broke from his fantasy when a tiny voice screamed "Spain you bastard, you're choking me! Leggo!"

Spain released his henchman from his tight embrace, laughing as the boy fell to the ground, panting to regain his breath. "Ok, Romano," he said finally, dropping to his knee to pat the boy on the back. "We'll get you a bicycle."

* * *

"Is that it?" Romano scowled, all the excitement he had been feeling suddenly plummeting as he eyed the scrappy looking bike Spain had unearthed from the basement.

"Aw it's not that bad, mi tomate!" Antonio patted the moldy bike seat encouragingly, causing a small cloud of dust to fill the air. "This used to be boss' bicycle you know!"

"Well it's just as old and moldy as you." Romano coughed, covering his mouth with one hand while he swatted the air with the other. "Can't I get a new bicycle?" He whined when the dust had finally settled.

Spain sighed, cocking his head to the side, "we just can't afford it right now, Romano," he admitted, smiling sadly when his lackey frowned deeper and tucked his arms in front of his chest in an exaggerated pout. "Who knows though," Spain continued, "maybe once you learn to ride well enough, we can start saving up for a new one."

Romano perked up at the revelation, lifting his head to stare the Spaniard in the eyes and smirking slightly, "well you better start saving up now because I'm sure I'll learn in no time!" He declared confidently.

* * *

Spain sighed heavily as he watched Romano kick the old bike in frustration. He had been trying to teach the boy how to ride for the past hour and half and so far the only thing he had gained was 2 temper tantrums and a roughed up front yard. "Maybe we should stop for today and pick it back up again tomorrow," the older country suggested as he studied the tremors in his lackey's small hands, a tell-tale sign of mounting stress.

"No, dammit!" Romano wailed, finally giving up on abusing the bike and picking it up from the ground. "If stupid Veneziano can learn to do this, then so can I!" He declared, hoisting himself back onto the bike and glancing expectantly over his shoulder.

Spain shrugged his shoulders in resignation, ' I wish Romano would be so determined when it came to doing chores properly,' he thought to himself bitterly. He slowly made his way over to his impatient lackey, grabbing onto the back of the bike so the Italian could lift both feet onto the pedals. "Ok Romano," he began, deciding to take a more stern approach to training, "we're going to try something different this time. I'm going to run behind you till you build up momentum, then, when I count to three I want you to start pedaling as hard as you can." Spain took a deep breath and leaned forward on the balls of his feet, preparing to run. "Ok, let's-"

"Wait!" Romano shrieked, throwing his head over his shoulder to stare at his boss with wide eyes. "You're not going to let go, right Jerk Spain? Because you didn't say, and-"

"N-no, of course I won't" Spain lied, patting the boy on the back. He knew once Romano was riding around on his own, his boss' little white lie would be all but forgotten. And even if it wasn't, his anger would be worth the sight of the boy happily pedaling across the yard.

"Good." Romano replied, not looking entirely convinced, but turning his face forward.

"You ready?" Spain asked once the boy's hands were gripped tightly around the handlebars. Romano nodded slightly and squealed when Spain instantly set off at a sprint.

"Ok," Spain panted heavily, "get ready to pedal in three-" Romano's heart slammed heavily against his chest, he just knew Spain was going to let go, adults were always lying to him. "Two-" The boy felt the sudden urge to call the whole thing off, what use did he have for bike riding anyway, walking suited him just fine, bicycles were so show really, tacky even-"ONE!" Spain yelled, snapping Romano's mind back to reality as he instantly began pedaling with all the strength his little legs could muster.

Romano felt the wind whip past his face as he pedaled harder and harder, "I'm doing it" he whispered to no one. "Spain, Spain, I'm doing it!" He called louder this time, turning around to beam at his caretaker. His face instantly fell when he realized Spain was many yards away. He veered his head forward again, panic pulsing through every inch of his body when he realized he didn't know how to stop. He didn't have time to ponder his predicament further before an ill-timed jerk in his hand turned his front wheel sharply and sent him crashing to the side. His small body slammed knees first into the hard ground below and he watched in fascination as the bike appeared to soar in slow-motion over him, missing his skull by mere inches. Sound and time seemed to disappear as he stared at the abused bike in front of him, desperately trying to figure out why he wasn't on top of it anymore.

"Romano! Romano!" A panicked voice sounded, breaking him from his thoughts and delivering him firmly back to reality. Tears rolled involuntarily from his eyes as the shock from what had happened and the pain in his knees invaded his body. Romano watched with blurry eyes as a larger body slumped next to him and gently rolled him onto his back. He struggled against the person's touch, both out of pain and indignation.

"You said you wouldn't let go, Bastard!" He wailed, fixing his face with the most outraged expression he could muster in such a miserable state.

"I know, mi tomate, I'm so sorry," Spain relented, sounding a little choked up himself.

'Serves him right,' Romano thought bitterly, yelping as he felt his body being lifted.

"Lemme down, Jerk," he whined, wriggling around till the older man finally relented his grasp. Romano winced at the pressure in his throbbing knees when his feet hit the ground, but his pride kept him from asking Spain for help.

"Please let me carry you," Spain pleaded, "I need to clean up those little knees of yours quickly before they get infected."

Romano glanced down at his legs for the first time and sniffed as he watched blood trickle down his calf. Somehow seeing the damage made the pain intensify and he felt torn between wanting Spain to suffer for lying and wanting the older country to cuddle and comfort him. "How do I know you won't just drop me?" Romano murmed, looking up at his caretaker with a frown.

Spain slumped to his knees and pulled Romano into a gentle hug, "I'm so sorry, Romano, I was a bad boss and didn't consider your feelings, but I promise I'll make it up to you." He cooed into the small boy's ear.

Spain smiled sadly as he felt Romano nod slowly into his shoulder and hoisted the boy up before he had a chance to change his mind. "You were really flying back there," Spain recalled happily, trying to distract the boy from his pain as they made their way back to the house. "You made it 20 yards at least, I bet by this time next week you'll be riding around like a pro!"

"Maybe sooner if I didn't have to wait for my knees to heal," Romano mumbled, face buried in the fabric of Spain's shirt.

"But Romano, isn't it nice you made it all that way on your own?" Spain glanced down at the boy in his arms, smirking when he saw a tiny smile flicker across his miserable face.

"No," Romano insisted immediately, "it was scary. Can't believe I ever believed a word you said, stupid Spain Jerk!"

Spain sighed, the smile had been enough for him, he knew the boy had enjoyed the brief moment of independence, even if he would never admit it. The two traveled in silence until they finally reached the house. Spain made his way into the bathroom and sat Romano down on the counter. He rifled through the medicine cabinet and pretended not to notice as the boy wiped furiously at his face, trying to remove all traces of his fallen tears.

After collecting everything he needed, Spain laid the materials on the counter next to his lackey and washed his hands. He shook his hands of loose water when done and picked up a piece of cotton to douse in hydrogen peroxide. He gently took one of Romano's knees in his hands and started to carefully scrub off the caked blood around the injury. After making his way through a few pieces of cotton he repeated the process on the other knee. When he was satisfied that the area around the wound was thoroughly clean he took up a pair of tweezers and, after pouring disinfectant solution over them, gently removed all the grass and debris from the grazed knees.

His heart swelled when he realized how quiet and still Romano was being. The boy really had matured, he reflected happily as he worked. He finally finished with the tweezers and set them to the side to be cleaned later. He felt Romano tense as he reached for a syringe and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. "This is going to burn for a second, but it'll save you from a lot of pain later on if these wounds get infected," he said calmly, trying to distract the boy from the impending discomfort.

"J-just hurry up and get it done, Jerk," Romano hissed, squinting his eyes shut and bracing himself against the counter. Spain filled the syringe with solution and pulled Romano's knees so they were hovering over the sink. Without warning he squirted the solution over the injuries, working quickly to bandage Romano's knees while the boy sat howling, distracted by his pain.

"All done!" Spain chirped happily, ruffling Romano's hair as the boy peeked his eyes open to stare at his newly-bandaged knees. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Spain smiled at his lackey.

"Yes it was, how would you know?" Romano pouted, sniffing back tears. Spain shrugged and lifted the boy into his arms, careful to not jostle his injuries. "Where are you taking me? Spain, let me down!" Romano wriggled wildly.

"I said I'd make this up to you, right?" Spain smiled cheerfully as he made his way into the kitchen and sat the boy down at the table.

"So?" Romano asked expectantly, staring at his caretaker with round, eager eyes.

"So, how does fresh baked pizza sound?" Spain replied, already bustling around the kitchen.

"With extra tomatoes?" Romano implored.

Spain stopped and turned to grin at his lackey. "I wouldn't dream of making it any other way."


	3. Birthday

Romano sat at the kitchen table, swinging his legs as he waited for Spain to get back from a meeting with his boss. His caretaker had been worn out lately, money struggles had been bad and he was receiving more pressure than usual to give his lackey away to Turkey. Romano was kept blissfully unaware of this fact of course, knowing only that every day Spain came home looking more tired and stressed than the day before.

The small Italian strummed his nails on the table, thoroughly ignoring the chores that needed to be done as he sat lost in thought. Spain's birthday was fast approaching and the boy wanted to give him a nice present, but not because he cared or anything, just because that stupid Spain would never stop bothering him if he didn't. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes as he wondered what the older country could possibly want. Spending money was out of the question, if not for the fact that he didn't have any, then for the detail of needing Spain to go to town with him if he were to spend any. That severely limited his options, especially considering his lack of talent in anything crafty.

Romano let his forehead fall forward on the table, letting out a little whine of frustration as he scrunched his eyes in concentration. He couldn't bake a cake, after more than a few unfortunate incidences he had been disallowed from using the stove or oven without Spain's supervision, and he thought briefly about writing a song before remembering his lack of musical talent. 'There has to be something I'm good at,' Romano thought to himself, wracking his brain in frustration as he tried to fight the lump forming in his throat.

Romano pushed his head up from the table again and looked around the kitchen, it was simple but efficient, like most of Spain's house. Though Romano thought it was comfortably decorated, Spain often complained about his lack of art, constantly begging Austria to have his ward make him a painting. Romano crossed his arms and grunted in frustration, he might lack his brother's training and patience, but he wasn't a terrible artist himself, it was just that no one ever gave him a chance. "That's it!" he called out to no one, suddenly pleased. He scurried up to his room to grab a piece of parchment and his crayons, he had a lot of work to do before his caretaker returned home.

* * *

"Wake up, Bastard!" Spain rolled towards the tiny voice, cracking his eyes open to see a blurry blob of tan and brown. After studying the object for a few long minutes, his brain started to catch up with his body and he braced himself for the head-butt he knew he was about to receive. Romano scoffed at this, softly slapping Spain on the head instead, "What are you doing, Idiot Spain?" He growled.

"Ah," Spain began, pushing himself into a sitting position as he rubbed at his eyes sleepily. "Aren't you going to hit me?" He asked, perplexed.

Romano's face turned a bright red and he puffed out his cheeks as he glanced to the ground. "Not today," he squeaked, barely audible.

"But why not?" Spain stared wide-eyed.

"B-because," Romano began, hesitantly spitting out each word, "it's your birthday, you damn Bastard."

Spain blinked in understanding, the corners of his mouth slowly turning into a wide smile as he swooped down and wrapped his arms around his lackey, ignoring the wriggling and curses as he laughed happily. "Romano, that's so CUTE!" He exclaimed, a contented blush forming in his cheeks before he finally released the fuming boy.

"I wasn't saying I care or anything," Romano spat out, pride obviously wounded.

Spain just nodded knowingly, still lost in a daze of happiness as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. "Your brother and Austria will be here soon, do you want me to give you a bath?" He asked, laughing inwardly at the shocked look that graced his underling's face.

"Of course not, Pervert!" Romano huffed, "I can do it myself!"

Spain was going to argue and point out that the last time Romano tried to bathe himself he slipped on the tile and had to be comforted for 30 minutes while a nasty bruise formed on his tailbone, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. "Alright, well I'm going to take a shower. Just call if you need me, mi tomate!"

Romano shot a mean look over his shoulder as he padded out into the hall, "like I would ever need help from a stupid Bastard like you!" He shouted angrily, leaving a laughing Spain in his wake. The boy made his way back into his room, closing the door behind him and stripping off his clothes as he made his way to the attached bathroom. He leaned over the rim of the tub, goosebumps breaking out across his chest as the cold linoleum brushed against his skin. He stretched out his tiny arm to plug the drain before turning on the faucet. Stepping back, he watched as steam filled the air before making his way back into his bedroom to rifle through his desk drawers. Finally, he found what he was looking for, a long piece of parchment, rolled and tied carefully with a piece of string. He struggled with the knot for a while before giving up completely and pulling it off the end of the paper instead.

Romano carefully unrolled the parchment, taking in the familiar image he had drawn only a few days ago. His heart thumped nervously as he studied his handiwork. It wasn't a bad drawing, he thought. At first he had trouble deciding what to sketch, but he had finally decided to draw what he knew best, and the result had worked out pretty well. Maybe not as good as Veneziano could do, but certainly not bad. Feeling a bit more confident, he laid the drawing out on his desk, weighing down each side with books to flatten the image back out before scampering back to the tub to turn off the faucet.

Romano spent longer in the bath than he meant to, the warm water felt so welcoming against he skin and he enjoyed splashing around the soap suds that fell from his hair. Though he was careful not to splash any water to the floor, he didn't want to repeat the incident that happened last time he bathed alone. He rubbed his back in memory of that terrible pain as he carefully hoisted one foot from the tub and planted it firmly on the bathroom floor, quickly followed by the other. He had just dried himself off and was buttoning up his shirt when Spain called up the stairs that Austria and Veneziano had arrived. "I'm coming, Bastard!" He yelled back as he tucked his shirt into his pants and pulled on his dress jacket. He definitely wasn't dressing up for Spain's birthday, though, he just knew Austria would give him a hard time if he looked scruffy.

After pulling on his shoes and clumsily tying the laces, Romano made his way to the steps and started heading down to greet his brother and former caretaker. He heard Spain's excited voice from the top of the stairs, making Romano roll his eyes as he imagined his guardian mooning over Veneziano as usual. With each step Spain's words became clearer and Romano's heart sunk deeper and deeper as realization started to sink in. His suspicions were validated as he finally made it to the ground floor and saw Spain happily holding a large canvas over his head.

"Isn't it beautiful, Romano? Just look what your brother did for me! He's so talented~!" Spain gushed happily, totally unaware of his lackey's devastated face.

Romano shuffled forward, completely forgetting to acknowledge his company as he studied the painting in his caretaker's hands. It was a beautifully detailed piece, featuring a brightly colored sunset over the lush Italian countryside. Romano felt painfully inadequate as he recalled the little drawing that laid shamefully on his desk. There was no way he could give that to Spain now, he didn't even want to the older country to see it, lest it become more fuel for him to be compared to his brother.

"Ve, what's wrong brother? Don't you like it?" Veneziano asked worriedly as he watched his older brother frown.

Romano snapped back to reality and tore his eyes from the painting to his brother's innocent face. "I-it's fine," he said finally, torn between being angry at his brother and upset over the situation.

"Why don't you help me decide where to hang it, Veneziano?" Spain said cheerfully, completely oblivious of his lackey's inner turmoil.

"Ok!" The younger Italian agreed, "and then can we have some lunch, I'm starving!"

Romano watched as Spain shot Veneziano a thumbs up before picking the boy up and carrying him to the kitchen with Austria following closely behind. He loved his brother but whenever he was around it made Romano feel like an outsider from his relationship with Spain. It hurt to think the one person that he truly cared about loved his brother more, but Romano couldn't exactly blame him. Veneziano was cuter, sweeter, and more talented, and now Spain was going to think he was more thoughtful, too. Romano bit his lip and fought the lump in his throat, he didn't want to embarrass himself by getting upset in front of Austria and his younger brother.

* * *

The day dragged on for Romano after that, he remained quiet through much of the happy conversation and picked half-heartedly at his dinner. He was ready for Austria and Veneziano to leave so he could go to bed and pretend this whole day never happened.

"Don't you agree, brother?" Romano studied Veneziano's face, the boy had been babbling on for what seemed like hours and Romano had been tuning him out.

"Uh sure, whatever," the older Italian mumbled back half heartedly.

"Yeah, I think Grandpa Rome was the best caretaker we ever had," Veneziano nodded resolutely.

Romano snapped his head in attention, "wait, what?" He asked, the topic of his neglectful Grandfather irritating him instantly.

"You know, I was just saying that no one's ever been so thoughtful as he was. He taught us so many nice things, like how to paint and write and chat with pretty women," the younger Italian smiled dreamily at the memory.

"You mean he taught YOU those things," Romano snarled. "That damn bastard never had anything to do with me."

"What do you mean, Romano? He loved us both." Veneziano pouted.

"No, no he didn't. He doted on you and completely ignored me." Romano started to rage, voice growing louder and louder. "And he taught you all these nice skills so everyone else would ignore me, too." Romano knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't stop. "You and you're stupid ass paintings, waltzing around like you own the place, I WISH YOU'D JUST FUCKING GO ALREADY!" He screamed as Veneziano started to cry.

"Romano!" Spain yelled as he ran into the room followed by Austria, "what's going on here?"

"Nothing, I just, I-" Romano began as Spain ran over to comfort his crying brother.

"I'm sorry Romano, I'm sorry you want me to go," Veneziano cried as Spain patted his back and cooed soothingly.

"Suck it up you big baby," Romano grumbled, crossing his arms.

Spain shot his lackey a stern glare, "Romano. Room. Now." He said simply, the lack of friendliness in his voice enough to make the young Italian exit the room without argument.

The older country sighed as he listened to his ward stomp his way up the stairs and slam his bedroom door. "I'm sorry about that," Spain scratched the back of his head as he smiled apologetically.

"It's ok, he was my lackey at one time, I know how he can be," Austria smirked as he pushed a still sniffling Veneziano towards the door. "Anyway, we need to get going before it gets too late, thanks for having us over," the pianist replied politely.

"Ok, thanks for coming! Travel safely!" Spain smiled, waving to the pair of travelers. As soon as they were a safe distance away Spain closed the front door and sighed heavily. He was disappointed in Romano, he thought the boy had started to become better-behaved, but now he wondered if it was just his affection for his lackey clouding his judgment. Whatever the case, he pondered as he made his way up the stairs to his ward's room, the boy was going to have to be scolded for his actions. When he reached the Italian's room he grabbed the door knob and found it locked.

"Romano," he called, his voice strangely stern. When no reply came he knocked at the door, "Romano, open, we need to talk."

The small Italian sat with his back against the door, trying not to sniffle too loudly as he clutched his drawing to his chest. "Go away, Bastard," he yelled bitterly.

"No I won't go away," Spain called back, unyielding, "you were rude to our guests and that's unacceptable! You're old enough to know better, Romano, why can't you be more polite like you brother?" He cried, growing exasperated.

Romano shuddered at this revelation, feeling as if his heart was being torn from his chest. He couldn't control himself as a loud sob broke from his throat, "if you like Veneziano so much, why don't you go live with him?" He yelled, wincing at the way his voice wavered.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Spain asked, face falling at the sound of his lackey crying.

"You're just like everyone else," Romano wailed, starting to hyperventilate a little as he cried harder, "y-you like V-Veneziano better than m-me," he coughed, choking on his tears as he lifted a tiny arm to wipe the snot from his nose. "W-why does e-everyone hate m-me?" He questioned, more to himself than to Spain.

Spain leaned his back on the door and slid down to the floor. "Romano," he said softly, all anger wiped from his voice. "What's brought this on? You know that I love you more than anyone, even Veneziano. You're my little tomate, no one could ever replace you."

"But why?" Romano sniffed, "he's better at chores than me, he gets along well with people, he's artistic like Grandpa Rome and-and he's cuter."

Spain couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, "Roma, no one could ever be cuter than you. No one." He said resolutely. "And you have your own talents, you're practical and stubborn, you're hard-working when you want to be and you're always there for the people you love. And, most important, you're my little Romano, and I love you." Spain concluded, "so why don't you open the door?"

Spain held his breath as a few minutes went by with only the sound of Romano's sniffling filling the silence. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard his lackey shuffle off the floor to unlock the door with a resounding click. Spain, eager to cuddle the upset child, jumped to his feet and tore the door open. He stared down at the little Italian, his cheeks were deep red and stained with dried tear tracks and clutched to his chest was a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Spain asked curiously, dropping to his knees to look his lackey in the eyes.

Romano's gaze shot to the ground as his grip on the drawing grew tighter, "i-it's nothing, i-it, it's well, I-" he stumbled through an explanation. Finally, he gave up, sighed, and pushed the paper into Spain's hands. "D-don't laugh," he warned irritably.

Spain studied the parchment in his grip before carefully turning it over. He felt his heart swell as he studied the image and tears tickled the corner of his eyes. Drawn in crayon in the center of the page was a little Romano and Spain, holding hands and surrounded by slightly heart-shaped tomatoes.

"Happy Birthday," Romano mumbled, still refusing to look up from the ground. He squeaked in surprise as Spain pulled him into a tight embrace.

"It's the best present I've ever received," Spain cried happily, releasing his grip on the boy so he could kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"Oi, Pervert, what are you doing?" Romano fumed, rubbing his cheek furiously.

"I'm sorry, I just, I love it so much! It's so beautiful!" Spain smiled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Romano blushed and looked back to the ground, "well I know it's not as good as Veneziano's but-"

"You're right," Spain cut him off suddenly, "it's better, much better!"

Romano smiled a little, despite himself. He didn't believe the older country, but it still felt nice to be complimented. Spain ruffled his hair affectionately before rising to his feet and sighing. "You're still in trouble for being rude to our guests though, Romano, I want you to write them both a letter of apology, ok?" Spain held the drawing lovingly in his hands and smiled as Romano nodded in silent agreement. "I don't want you to leave your room till you finish, but hurry so we can have some cake together before bedtime!" Spain realized he was too soft on the boy, but he couldn't help but coddle him when he acted so insecure.

Romano sniffed one last time before walking over to his desk and pulling out a piece of paper, "ok Bastard, then leave me alone so I can get it done!" He growled, for once not putting up an argument. Spain nodded and backed out of the room, whistling as he made his way back down the hall.

When Romano finally finished his letters, he pushed himself from his desk and scurried down to the kitchen, being careful to slow down and look as disinterested as possible when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Spain, I'm done," he yelled as he padded towards the kitchen. He froze when he reached the doorway and stared wide-eyed at the wall.

"Do you like it?" Spain asked, turning from his job cutting the cake to smile at his lackey. He followed the boy's line of vision to the newly framed drawing on the wall, right above the kitchen counter. "Since this is where we spend most our day, I thought it'd be nice to have it here, so I can see it all the time!" Spain grinned.

Romano nodded slightly before walking up to his caregiver and burying his head into his pants leg. "Thank you," he mumbled, a silent tear falling down his cheek.


	4. Shoes

"Romano, breakfast is ready!" Spain called cheerfully as he turned the heat off the stove and placed a serving plate of eggs on the table. "Good Morning," he smiled when his lackey appeared in the doorway.

"Mm," Romano mumbled back grumpily as he made his way to the table. Spain's eyebrows knit in concern as he watched the boy walk, his body was stiff and he limped slightly with each step.

"Is everything ok?" Spain asked as he watched the boy climb in his chair.

Romano's face blushed slightly from the attention and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, turning his eyes to the wall. "I'm fine, Bastard," he spat.

Abandoning his work setting the table, Spain made his way to the small Italian's chair and pulled it from the table. Ignoring Romano's cries of protest, he slumped to his knees and started untying the boy's shoes. He pulled the right shoe off slowly, then the left, noting how the boy's face flickered in pain as he worked. After setting the shoes aside, he started on the socks, carefully rolling them down to reveal the Italian's red and slightly swollen feet. Spain gripped the ball of his lackey's foot with his thumb and forefinger and slowly applied pressure, he barely escaped receiving a foot to the face when Romano cried out in pain.

"That hurts, Bastard!" Romano yelled, quickly forgetting that he was trying to pretend he was fine.

Spain sighed and took to his feet, "Romano, why didn't you tell me your shoes were too small?" He asked, incapable of hiding the tiny bit of sadness that tinged his voice. He thought the boy had started to trust and confide in him, but this event seemed like another big step back.

Romano's cheeks flushed as he looked down at his battered feet. "I-I know that...that you don't have a lot of money," he mumbled as quietly as possible, cheeks darkening as he continued hesitantly, "b-because of me."

Spain smiled tenderly, pulling a chair over as he slumped down and tousled the little Italian's hair. "It's true that I don't have a lot of money," he admitted, "but it's not all because of you, mi tomate." Romano's hazel eyes glanced up slightly and Spain beamed at him reassuringly. "Besides," he said, pinching the boy's rosy cheek and receiving a death glare in response, "when I took you in as a lackey I knew what I was getting in to, so you need to let Boss take care of you properly, ok?"

Romano rolled his eyes, his caretaker's logic was flimsy at best, but he did feel a bit better despite himself. "Fine." He growled simply.

"Ok!" Spain cheered, shooting his annoyed lackey an enthusiastic thumbs up, "then it's decided, after breakfast we'll go to town and get you some new shoes."

The boy let out a small "hmph." While he didn't want to be stuck wearing the too-small footwear, he hated shopping, it was boring and crowded and Spain always walked too fast. Romano ate slowly, trying to extend the time before he had to put those painful loafers back on and begin the dreaded excursion to town.

Eventually, the time had come. The table had been cleared, dishes washed, and Spain had frowned apologetically as he helped his ward slip back into his ill-fitting shoes. The pair made their way wordlessly to town, only the sounds of Spain humming softly and their feet on the gravel pathway filling the air. Spain watched Romano carefully in the corner of his eye, sighing to himself as he watched the boy struggle to keep from wincing with each step. "Hey Romano," Spain finally broke the silence, growing tired of waiting for his lackey to ask for help, "why don't you let Boss carry you for a little while?"

Romano shot his caretaker an offended look in silent reply before turning his eyes forward once more. Spain shrugged and dropped the topic, he was hoping they could have a peaceful day of shopping and he didn't want to instigate anger in his ill-tempered lackey. The two continued quietly until Romano suddenly stumbled and fell to his knees. The boy righted himself quickly, but the damage had been done, and Spain reached out a hand to grab the boy by the collar and spin him around. "Are you ok?" He asked kindly, not wanting to embarrass the Italian but at the same time concerned for his well-being.

"'M fine Bastard, lemme go!" Romano swatted at the Spaniard's hand in an effort to get free.

Spain smiled sadly, completely unaffected by his ward's violence. "Not until you let me take a look at those feet of yours," he said simply, at the moment more concerned for the boy's health than his impending tantrum.

Romano put up a furious battle as Spain tried to push him into a sitting position. "No Jerk Spain, I said I'm fine!" He fumed, aiming to kick his guardian in the groin.

Spain jumped back in surprise, losing his grasp on the boy and mentally praising God that his vital regions were still intact. "Fine," Spain relented, watching his lackey pant heavily from the effort of fighting, "let's compromise. I won't make you take off your shoes if you let me carry you the rest of the way."

Spain held his breath in anticipation, smiling in relief when the boy reluctantly nodded. The older country dropped to his knees eagerly in an invitation for Romano to climb onto his back. Taking the cue, the Italian hobbled over, wrapping his arms around his guardian's neck and burying his head in his back from humiliation and defeat. Spain wrapped his arm under the small boy's thin legs and straightened back up, he could walk much faster now that he didn't have to worry about Romano keeping up with him, and he babbled on happily, receiving the occasional one-word reply until he made his way into the crowded marketplace.

"Let me down," Romano struggled suddenly, resisting the idea of so many people seeing him be carried. Spain knelt down wordlessly, chuckling as the boy released his grip around his neck and instantly started straightening his shirt as if he had just suffered a great injustice.

"The shoe vendor's right around the corner," Spain said reassuringly as he watched the boy hobble. He felt bad that his lackey was in pain, but he couldn't help but think how cute the child looked walking so stiffly as if he were an old man. He let out a short laugh at the thought and caught an angry glance from the Italian.

Romano stopped in his tracks and turned to face his guardian, "I want you to walk in front of me," he grumbled.

"But why," Spain whined, "if I walk in front I can't keep an eye on you."

"That's the point, Bastard!" Romano snapped back. "I don't need you to keep an eye on me, I can take care of myself!"

Spain studied his lackey's angry face, he supposed the pain and embarrassment were all becoming too much for the boy, but his words still hurt his feelings. "If you say so, mi tomate," he sighed, ignoring the way Romano scowled deeper at the nickname.

The pair finally made their way to the shoe vendor, Spain tried to walk slower than usual, nervous that his lackey would get lost in the bustling crowds. "What do you think of these?" He asked cheerfully as held a pair of simple yet smart looking brown loafers down to the boy.

Romano studied the shoes carefully, he didn't care much for fashion, he liked his clothes to be practical and comfortable. "They look fine," he said, nodding a little for emphasis.

"Excellent," Spain replied happily, "now sit down so you can try them on," he said, gesturing to a bench situated to the side of the stand. Romano reluctantly complied, climbing into the bench and wrestling with his sloppily tied laces. "Let me do it," Spain said tenderly, ignoring the daggers shot at his face.

Spain started with the right foot, expertly untying the knot and carefully pulling off the little shoe. He gasped when he caught sight of the blood spotted around the boy's stubby toes. "Roma-" he started, unsure if he should scold the boy or comfort him.

Romano's eyes had widened when he saw the crimson specks on his sock, but he quickly adopted a stony countenance. "It's fine, just a scrape." He pouted, pointing his gaze to the side in shame.

Spain's heart lightened a little at that, if the boy was feeling well enough to be this obstinate he couldn't be in a great deal of pain, after all, it didn't take much to reduce his lackey to tears. "Guess I'll have to buy you a new pair of socks, too, huh?" He joked, hoping to lighten the Italian's mood. When Romano didn't reply, he continued the work of removing the left shoe. His left foot had a few speckles of blood, but not quiet as bad as the right, and Spain dared not comment on it. Setting the shoes aside, he tenderly placed the new loafers on the boy, tying up the laces loosely and pinching the toes to make sure there was growing room. "How do they feel?" Spain asked expectantly.

Romano's eyes snapped forward, he had been lost in his own thoughts and hadn't even noticed Spain had finished with his feet. He lowered himself off the bench and took a few hesitant steps, his feet still hurt but not from the tightness of the shoes. "They're good." He said simply, stealing a glance at Spain's beaming face.

"They look good on you, Roma!" He said, ruffling the boy's hair before picking up the discarded loafers. "Stay right there and I'm going to pay for those, ok?" Romano nodded in compliance as Spain made his way over to the merchant.

When his boss was out of sight, the Italian let his eyes roam around the bustling marketplace, letting his thoughts wander. Today had been an utter failure, Romano had heard Spain's bosses calling the Italian a useless crybaby the last time they had come to visit, he heard how Spain was encouraged to give him up and recoup his losses. Romano was perplexed, if not relieved, when Spain had resisted. While it made him happy to know the older country was not going to abandon him, he couldn't figure out why he wouldn't. Every boss Romano had ever acquired had traded him away at the first hint of the boy's ornery and clumsy ways. The Italian felt he had no real reason to expect the Spaniard to be any different, surely Spain just wanted to hold onto him because of his inheritance. Yet Romano was determined to prove he could be worth keeping on his own merit.

The boy had tried to prove he could be mature, when his shoes had started to bother him a week ago he had tolerated it without tears or complaint. But did that stupid Spain notice? Of course not, he just had to ruin all of Romano's efforts by making a huge deal out of going to town, carrying him there, and paying for new shoes. 'The only way you won't be a burden on Spain is if you leave him,' he admitted to himself, feeling his feet move away from the shoe stand before he remembered commanding them to do it.

Romano weaved around the masses of people, heart thumping heavily against his chest as he made his way further and further from his guardian. If he was incapable of being anything but deadweight, he would just run away and live on his own, then Spain could be happy and have money and not have to worry about the feelings of his over-sensitive charge. Lost in his thoughts, Romano was shocked when he ran into the back of a large woman's legs. "Watch it!" She yelled at him angrily, making him fall backwards in fright.

The Italian collided with a little girl as he fell, knocking her gelato to the ground and earning himself some shouts from her angry parents. He held his hands up in apology and backed away, nearly getting run over by a rushing delivery man. Romano started to feel overwhelmed, his hands twitched slightly as panic set in, the world was considerably more scary without Spain there to look after him. He started to regret his decision to run away and quickly decided to return to the shoe vendor. He made his way down the street, stress overwhelming him when he realized he had no idea which way to head. He wandered down a few roads, hobbling aimlessly as the feeling of desperation started to weigh heavily against his chest.

'I'm not gonna cry, I'm not gonna cry, I'm not gonna cry,' he repeated the mantra continuously in his head, willing himself not to get too worked up. He turned another corner and his heart sunk at the unfamiliar surroundings. "I'm never gonna find him," he whispered, unable to control himself any longer as tears flooded his vision. He quickly ducked into an alleyway, desperate to hold on to some small part of his dignity as he thumped his back against the brick wall and slid to a sitting position. He pulled his knees into his chest and watched, ashamed, as tears dripped from his cheeks onto his pants.

He realized in hindsight that staying in one place was probably the best way to be found. 'Not like Spain would look for you anyway, he probably cheered and ran home to throw a party when he realized you were gone,' Romano thought bitterly, pulling off one of his new shoes in anger and throwing it against the opposite wall. He grimaced at the blood soaking his sock, now that he was alone the pain was finally registering in his head, and it was intense. Romano laid his cheek on his knobby knees, he was hungry and in pain, and all he wanted, he reluctantly admitted to himself, was for Spain to hold him close and tell him he loved him. Even if it wasn't true.

Lethargy started to fall over Romano like a blanket, it had been a tiring day and he supposed it was probably about time for his siesta. "There's no way I can fall asleep in a place like this," he mumbled to no one, letting his heavy lids droop closed.

* * *

"...mano!" Romano woke with a start, he threw his head around, disoriented. His heart sunk when he remembered where he was, it was darker than it had been before. Long shadows stretched across the ground, indicating the low position of the sun and the impending nightfall. Romano shivered at the thought of being left alone in the alleyway overnight, fresh tears sprung to his eyes when a panicked yell caught his attention.

"Romano!" The voice called. The Italian scrambled to his feet, grabbing his new shoe off the ground and limping his way back to the street.

"Spain!" He squeaked out, as he frantically turned his head from side to side. "Spain, where are you?" Fresh tears rolled down his hot cheeks when he saw a patch of curly brown hair bob its way quickly through the crowd, and his knees wobbled in relief when he saw his guardian's terror-stricken face.

"Romano!" The older country exclaimed upon seeing his crying lackey. "Gracias a Dios!" He ran forward and wrapped his arms around the small boy, pulling him into a tight hug. "I thought you were gone for good, I was so scared!" He choked out, fighting not to cry himself.

For once, Romano didn't struggle against Spain's embrace, he was relieved to be found, too. After a few silent minutes, Spain loosened his hold and leaned the Italian back so he could look him in the eyes. "What happened, Roma? How did you get lost?" He asked expectantly, panic slowly leaving his emerald eyes.

Romano's cheeks reddened and he looked away in embarrassment. "I-I ran away." He mumbled after a long silence.

Spain looked more hurt than surprised at this revelation and made the small boy feel instantly guilty. "Why would you run away, Roma? Am I not a good boss?"

"N-no," he said reluctantly, "you're a good boss."

"Then why?" Spain reiterated, concern knitting his brow.

"Because," Romano looked his caretaker straight in the eyes, the way the man looked at him so lovingly made him feel out of place, he wasn't used to being regarded that way. People either looked at Romano with greed or contempt, never had he encountered the selfless love the Spaniard insisted on lavishing upon him. "It's because," he tried again, struggling till Spain lowered him to the ground, "because I'm a bad lackey." He whispered finally.

Spain dropped to one knee so he could hear the pouting boy better. "What was that?"

Romano shivered as fresh tears formed in his eyes, he licked his dry lips and repeated himself, louder this time. "I didn't run away because you're a bad boss. I did it because I'm a bad lackey."

Spain made a noise at the revelation, but Romano ignored him, unable to stop himself from admitting his guarded feelings now that he had started. "I know what everyone says, that I'm a crybaby and that I'm only worth my grandpa's inheritance, and maybe-maybe they're right. So I-I tried to be mature and not be a burden, but my stupid shoes got too small and then I couldn't walk right and I tried to bear it but you won't just ignore me like Austria and Grandpa so you had to make a huge fucking deal out of it and spend money you don't have. A-and maybe I am a crybaby, but my feet fucking hurt, and I thought maybe if I run away you won't feel like you have to be responsible for me anymore!" Romano panted heavily, feeling winded after the emotional tirade. He stole a glance at Spain and noted how calm his expression had become.

"Romano," he said tenderly, resting a hand on the small boy's shoulder, "you're not a burden on me, I take care of you because I want to, and I want to because I love you."

"I know that, Bastard," Romano mumbled, blushing slightly, "but I thought if I was more mature, maybe you wouldn't have to try so hard at it."

Spain's mouth lifted into a familiar warm smile as he regarded his lackey, "Romano, what do you think maturity is?" He asked, taking the boy's chin in his hand and gently turning his face forward.

Romano leveled his gaze at his caretaker, suddenly flustered, "it's-" he began, biting his lip as he turned the question over in his mind. "It's being able to take care of yourself." He decided finally.

Spain shook his head at that, using his sleeve to wipe the tears from the small boy's face. "No, Romano," he corrected, "maturity is knowing when to ask for help."

Romano nodded his head slightly before hesitantly stepping forward to hug his guardian once more. Spain readily accepted the embrace, tousling the boy's hair affectionately before they parted again.

"You ready to go home?" Spain questioned, rising to his feet when Romano squeaked out a yes. He started to step forward when a sudden grip on his pant's leg stopped him. He peered down at his ward and cocked his head, "what's wrong, Roma?" he asked.

Romano released his hold on the fabric and looked to the ground in embarrassment, "th-thank you for being there." He decided on finally.

Spain beamed, a contented blush forming on his cheeks, "always," he replied simply before turning back.

"W-wait!" Romano yelped, making Spain whip back around. The boy stared up into his caretaker's expectant eyes and grimaced a little in discomfort. "D-do you think you could carry me home?" He asked hesitantly, squeaking as Spain swiftly pulled the boy into his arms.

"Fine, on one condition!" He laughed, nuzzling the boy's red cheek. "No piggy backs this time, I get to hold you bridal style!"

"You're such a pervert," Romano grumbled, burying his face into Spain's chest to hide his forming smile.


	5. Beach

Spain cracked his eyes open sleepily and licked his dry lips. The air was thick and hot around him, 'it has to the hottest morning yet this summer,' he thought as he yawned and kicked the thin, sweat-soaked sheets from his body. Wind wafted gently through his open windows, soundlessly upsetting the delicate curtains that hung over them, but the normally refreshing breeze was warm and stifling.

Spain pushed his body up on his elbows as he heard the sound of someone padding down the hall. During the summer months he had the habit of sleeping with his door open in order to encourage better circulation, but to his little lackey this was an invitation to enter and leave his guardian's room as he pleased. Just as he suspected, a sweaty and bed-rumpled Romano appeared in the doorway and, without bothering to ask for permission, entered the bedroom. His half-lidded eyes didn't even glance over to acknowledge Spain's presence as he walked to his caretaker's bedside and slid to his knees before falling completely forward onto the cold hardwood.

"Everything ok?" Spain asked, tiredly climbing from the bed without waiting for an answer.

Romano only groaned as he felt his boss' heavy footfalls walking away from his prone body, "so...hot," he whined when he felt the steps making their way back to him. Spain slumped to the floor next to the boy and placed a glass of water in front of his face before gently dabbing the nape of his neck with a cold washcloth.

"I know," the older country agreed, leaning back onto the uncomfortable bed frame.

"My head hurts," the boy mumbled halfheartedly, shivering contentedly under the cool rag's touch.

"You're overheated," Spain said simply, pushing the glass of water closer to the boy's face, "drink, you'll feel better."

Romano squeezed his eyes closed before expelling a loud sigh between his dry lips and pushing himself up to a sitting position. He picked up the glass with shaky fingers and scooted his butt closer to Spain so he could lean on the older man's arm while he took tiny sips. Spain smiled a little at the touch, despite the unpleasantness of having the overheated Italian's drenched hair against his clammy skin. "Better?" He yawned as his mind slowly started to become more alert.

Romano nodded slowly, nose still buried in the rim of the half-filled cup. "Why is your place so hot, Spain?" He grumbled listlessly, blinking curiously at the way his voice bounced off the barriers of the glass.

"It's for the tomatoes," Spain answered easily, taking the glass from the boy and enjoying a big gulp of refreshing water.

"The tomatoes?" Romano asked skeptically, swatting the older country's arm for stealing his source of entertainment.

Spain nodded and handed the glass back to his lackey, "si, the tomatoes like it to be warm, it makes them happy and fat."

"Well with this heat they should be as big as melons." Romano pouted when Spain laughed heartily and affectionately tousled his hair. The two sat in silence a while after that, each trying to motivate himself into getting ready for the day. "Oi, Spain," Romano said after a minutes, pushing the now-empty glass at his elder in a silent request for it to be refilled.

"Hm?" Spain replied, rising to his feet with the cup in hand and padding to the bathroom.

"Do you have to work today?"

Spain peeked out of the bathroom to steal at a glance at his lackey, he laughed a little when he noticed the slight blush on the Italian's cheeks, the boy hated showing any indication that he liked spending the day with his guardian. He made his way back to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face, not bothering to dry himself off before holding the glass under the gurgling stream. "Um, I don't think so," he called back, turning off the faucet and walking back to the bedroom to hand the drink to the dehydrated boy. "Why?"

Romano took a greedy gulp of water in an obvious effort to avoid answering the question. He wiped his mouth when he finished drinking and let out a satisfied sigh, "what are you gonna do today, then?" He asked, placing the glass down so he could stretch his arms over his head. "Not gardening I hope," he said, rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. "It's too damn hot for that. Unless you're a tomato anyway," he added thoughtfully.

"Well then this weather should be perfect for you, mi tomate," Spain squealed, unable to keep himself from wrapping his arms around the wriggling little body.

"Stop, Spain, you feel gross," Romao scowled, half-heartedly thumping his fists against the older country's shoulders.

Spain laughed and released his charge, "you don't feel so pleasant either, Roma, you need a shower!" He teased, sidestepping the child to grab the forgotten cup from the floor and deposit it on the nightstand before it was tipped over.

Romano folded his arms in front of his chest, "I didn't ask for you to manhandle me, Pervert," he pouted. "And you didn't answer my question."

Spain cocked his head to the side, trying to remember what the boy had asked him, "ah, do I have plans for today?" He asked hesitantly.

The Italian nodded slightly, frowning when he realized Spain hadn't been listening to him. "I hadn't really thought about it," Spain continued after receiving confirmation over the nature of the question. "Why, do you have any ideas?"

Romano quickly shot his gaze to the wall, a slight blush forming beneath his eyes, "w-well, I thought that maybe, because it's so hot," he started hesitantly, suddenly embarrassed.

"Yeah?" Spain encouraged, sitting on the edge of the mattress and leaning his elbows over his thighs so he was level with the small boy's forward-facing head.

"W-well, did you know we haven't been to the coast since last summer?" Romano finally spat out, finding it easier to hide his desires in casual conversation.

"Is that so?" Spain pondered, placing his forefinger on his chin as he looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I guess you're right, imagine that." He nodded, trying to decide if he should continue to tease the boy or just give in to him. "Well then, why don't we go today?" He asked, grinning at the way Romano's face lit up despite his best efforts to keep it neutral. 'I never could resist spoiling him,' the older country thought to himself as Romano shrugged and agreed that he could put up with it for Spain's sake.

* * *

Spain sighed contentedly as the salty ocean air ruffled through his hair. He had forgotten how cool it was on the coast, the fair weather had even brightened his normally ill-tempered lackey's mood. The boy had only complained briefly about the scorching loose sand as they made their way to the shore, but that grievance had been quickly squelched when Spain wordlessly picked the child up until they reached the cooler, more compact ground. Now the Italian was digging a fortress against the forthcoming high tide. Spain couldn't help but laugh at Romano's child-like optimism as the boy quickly rebuilt his sandy barrier every time a particularly strong wave would knock it to the ground.

Romano gave up his battle when the waves started crashing with more frequency and made his way up to his watching guardian. "Oi, Spain, are you just going to sit in the sand all day?" He asked, kicking the ground a little for emphasis and watching with fascination as the wind picked up the tiny grains of sand and swirled them across the shore.

Spain yawned and stretched, "but the sun and the breeze feel so good, Romano," he whined, pretending he didn't understand the pretext behind the question. The boy was a good swimmer, but he refused to go in past his knees without his guardian by his side. He'd had a few mishaps as a child when he was still struggling considerably with his chorea, and they had left him insecure in deep water.

"Why don't you go for a swim?" Spain suggested innocently.

Romano looked down at his feet and frowned slightly, "I don't know..." he began.

"I'll be watching from here, Roma, I won't let anything happen to you," Spain interrupted, trying to encourage the child before he offered up an excuse. "Promise."

Romano stayed quiet, balling his hands into fists when his fingers started to twitch. Spain, recognizing the signals of an impending tantrum, scrambled to his feet and slapped the boy gently on the shoulder. "Tag, you're it!" He yelled, taking a couple steps back from the boy and waiting nervously. The Italian's head shot up immediately and he stared daggers at his caretaker.

"Bastard," he yelled, charging forward with his arms outstretched only to fall to the sand when Spain quickly side-stepped him, "that was a cheap shot!" He fumed, righting himself and running towards the older country again.

"Ah, but Romano," Spain teased, using his skills as a bullfighter to easily dodge the boy's attacks, "all is fair in war and tag."

The two skirted around each other for a while, Spain laughing happily every time he evaded his fuming lackey until finally the boy collapsed into the sand, exhausted. "I'm hot again," he groaned as Spain plopped down next to him and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"I always forget how delicate you are," he teased, missing the hurt look his lackey shot him as he contemplated the glistening waves lapping onto shore. Without warning, Spain grabbed the Italian by the waist, throwing him over his shoulder as he jogged towards the bank.

"Spain Bastard, what are you doing?" Romano shrieked, wriggling around madly in an effort to make the older country loosen his hold.

"I just thought we could go for a swim," Spain grinned, wincing his way through the shell-laden shallow sand until he was churning water in a deeper area. Once he felt he was far enough from shore, he released the cursing Italian, trying to stifle laughter as the boy, in an attempt to tell off the older country, ended up with a mouthful of salt water.

"Doesn't it feel nice, Romano?" Spain asked lightly when the boy had stopped sputtering and coughing.

Romano scowled and spit into the dark water, trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth. He tenderly dropped a foot down to see if he could reach the ocean floor, only to feel a quick pang of terror when he realized he couldn't. "I'm going back," he announced, immediately starting to paddle his way back to shore.

"You mean you're gonna leave your boss all alone?" Spain asked, feigning fear as he playfully splashed the back of his lackey's head.

Romano jerked around, ready to tell off the older country, but his words turned into a gurgled screech as he watched a mammoth wave crash over his unsuspecting guardian. "SPAIN!" Romano yelped before taking a deep breath and sinking into the water while the tumbling froth passed over him. When the ocean had stilled, the boy thrashed his way to the surface, greedily sucking in air as he swam further away from the coast, frantically searching for his caretaker.

His legs ached as he willed them to kick faster and faster against the tide, he didn't know how long Spain had been under, but he was certain he didn't have much time. "Spain! Spain!" He called out uselessly, wrenching his head around to spot any sign of life in the thrashing ocean water. His hazel eyes widened when he saw a hint of movement not 10 feet from his body. He paddled to the bubbling surface furiously, not bothering to ponder what he would do if the disturbance turned out not to be Spain at all but some ominous sea creature.

"Spain," he called out in relief when the Spaniard's face bobbed out of the water. Romano focused worriedly on the man's closed eyes and relaxed features, he quickly closed the distance between them and wrapped an arm under the older country's armpit, kicking them to shore with all the might his scrawny legs could muster. His face grew hot with frustration as he realized what little progress he was making against the ocean current, it had been much easier to swim from side to side, but now the lowering tide and the weight of the Spaniard were against him.

'At least if I drown I won't be alone,' he thought bitterly, immediately chastising himself for being so negative. "I'm gonna save you, Spain Bastard!" He yelled out to no one, treading the water with newfound energy.

"What was that?" A soft voice sounded before coughing.

"S-Spain?" Romano's heart jumped as he continued to kick desperately, refusing to turn around in case he was imagining things.

"W-what's going on, Romano? What are you doing?" Spain asked, disoriented.

"I'm saving you, Bastard, so shut up!" Romano yelled back, he was starting to get winded and the effort of talking was too much for him.

"Oh, uh, well..." Spain grinned apologetically before planting his feet on the ocean floor and straightening into a standing position. Romano hung awkwardly from his shoulder, blush forming on his cheeks as he realized the situation.

Spain took it from there, hoisting the child onto his hip and slowly pulling them both to shore. He deposited Romano on the ground when they reached the sandy bank and sat next to him before flopping down onto his back. "Phew, that was interesting, huh Roma?" He laughed, peering up at his scarlet-faced lackey.

"My legs are sore," the boy mumbled, staring blankly at the lolling waves, "you're heavy, Jerk Spain."

Spain chuckled at that, rising to his feet and pulling his lackey up so he could look him over for injuries.

"You swam all that way on your own, huh?" Spain smiled, brushing Romano's damp bangs from his eyes, "I'm so proud of you!"

The praise was completely lost on Romano as he threw his face into Spain's chest and starting sobbing suddenly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's all my fault," he wailed fitfully, open palms flat on Spain's firm stomach.

Spain blinked down confused, he grabbed the child by the shoulders and wrenched him away from his body. "What are you sorry for?" He asked, concern knitting his brow, "I thought you were the one that just saved me."

Romano shook his head desperately, trying to hide his crying face behind his fists. "But the only reason you went in the water is because of me," he hiccuped, wiping his tears on his knuckles.

Spain inwardly cursed, he often forgot that the boy was more perceptive than himself. He tenderly wrapped his hands around the Italian's wrists and pulled his fists from his tear-stricken face. "Romano, listen to me, it was no one's fault." He said firmly, determined not to let the child shoulder the blame for this incident. "Do you understand?" He asked. Romano only sighed, chest jumping as he held back another sob. "Roma, do you?" Spain asked again, refusing to give up until he received an answered.

Romano nodded hesitantly, tensing as Spain pulled him in for a hug. "I'm so proud of you, my brave little Roma," the older country cooed, carefully combing his fingers through his lackey's tangled hair.

"I'm not brave," Romano grumbled, stepping back from Spain's clutch.

"Of course you are," Spain said, confused. He released his hold when he felt the boy pushing away, "you saved me even though you're scared of the deep water, that seems brave to me!"

Romano's cheeks flushed as he folded his arms over his chest, he regarded his caretaker with an unidentifiable look before turning to pad down the shore. Spain watched astonished as the boy walked farther away. Without thinking he scrambled to his feet and started pacing after him. 'What did I say?" He wondered to himself as he glanced down at the tiny footprints Romano had left in the sand, for every print Spain left he easily passed over three of the smaller Italian's. "Romano," Spain called gently when he had caught up with the small boy, he reached out to grab the Italian's hand, only to have it angrily slapped away. "Romano," Spain tried again, the boy had stopped in his tracks but he still refused to turn around.

"I'm not brave." Romano sputtered out quietly, watching the way the ocean gleamed like a golden field under the sun's lowering light.

"But..." Spain began, reaching out to rest his hand on the boy's shoulder when the child suddenly turned around and glared at him angrily.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was?" Romano gulped painfully, he didn't want to cry again dammit, he was so dehydrated already. "I thought you were dead, Spain Bastard!" He cried, chest heaving.

"I know-" Spain tried before he was once more interrupted.

"What happens to me then, Spain you jerk? Whose going to care about me if you're gone?" Romano turned around again, shoulder slumping forward as he trembled, "I'm not brave. I was fucking terrified." He mumbled quietly, suddenly unsure if the roaring in his ears was from the waves or his racing thoughts. His knees wobbled dangerously and he was close to giving in and collapsing when a strong arm knocked his knees out from under him and scooped him up tenderly.

"Do you think I'm brave, Romano?" Spain asked, looking straight ahead as he walked slowly back to their discarded towels.

"I guess." Romano answered reluctantly, not wanting to feed the older country's ego, but feeling too tired to lie completely.

"Oh yeah?" Spain laughed, smiling lightly. "Well then, do you know that I'm scared all the time?"

"You are?" Romano asked skeptically, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Every day," Spain nodded solemnly, "I worry about my country, my people, my economy, my bosses," he glanced down at the small body in his arms, "my little Roma," he paused when he felt the Italian tense at the sound of his name. "I worry for all these things constantly, I don't want anything bad to happen to them you see, so sometimes I have to do things that scare me to make sure they're safe."

"Like what?"

"Like carry a screaming and squirming boy into the ocean," he laughed when Romano's cheeks turned a deep crimson.

"You're not scared of the water," Romano pouted, irritated that his guardian would lie to him.

"No, but I am scared of putting you in danger, even if it's to teach you a lesson." Spain said simply.

Romano considered this new information for a few minutes before giving up and sighing, "I don't get it, are you saying you're not brave either?" Romano asked, confused.

"No, Roma," Spain corrected, "what I'm telling you is that you have to be scared in order to be brave."

Romano stayed silent until they finally reached their forgotten towels and Spain let him gently down from his grasp. The Italian pulled his sandals on, grimacing at the grainy sand stuck to the bottoms of his feet. "Spain?" he said finally when he had shaken the loose sand off his towel and draped it across his shoulders.

"Hm?" The older country replied, busily folding up his own towel.

"I think I must be really brave then." Romano replied, falling in step with his guardian as they made their way off the coast.

"How d'ya figure?" Spain teased, cocking his head to the side.

"Cause I'm scared all the time." Romano admitted hesitantly.

Spain laughed at that, nodding in agreement as he dipped down to take the boy's small hand into his own.


	6. Rain

Rain splattered the damp ground as Romano sighed and watched curiously at the way his warm breath fogged the window before instantly clearing again. He pressed his finger to the glass to trace the path of the falling droplets, not caring that his greasy touch was marring the once clean surface. It became a game, pick a raindrop and see if it would reach the bottom of the window sill before the rest. 'Stupid rain,' Romano thought grumpily, cursing when a rogue raindrop took a mad dash past his chosen droplet. His hand slumped to his side in frustration before he turned to pad his way into the kitchen

"Spain," he whined when he made his way into the room, slumping his back into the cabinets next to his caretaker's legs.

"Hm, what is it Romano, you hungry?" Spain asked, keeping his eyes on his hands as he expertly sliced a red pepper and emptied the pieces into a simmering pan.

"No," Romano sighed, sliding down to his butt and staring up at the distracted older country, "boooored."

Spain chuckled a little as his lackey's complaint, "why don't you draw a picture?" He suggested, wiping his hands on his apron before stirring the bubbling mixture on the stove.

"I already used up the red and green crayons, what am I supposed to do without red and green?" Romano asked indignantly, scoffing at his guardian's stupidity.

Spain shrugged, smiling lightly, "I don't know Romano, I guess you could draw something other than tomatoes."

Romano's mouth gaped open in disgust, "like what, potatoes? Stupid Spain Bastard."

"You could sweep the floor," Spain suggested, ignoring the boy's retort.

"I just did that!" Romano snapped, growing irritated at the older country's terrible suggestions

Spain stopped what he was doing to stare unbelieving at his lackey, "that was a week ago," he deadpanned.

Romano jerked his head up, eyebrows knit angrily as he stared back at his guardian. "Duh, that's what I just said, Stupid!" He spat, folding his arms in frustration.

"Seriously though," Spain said, turning back to the counter to chop an onion, "France and Prussia are going to be here later, it'd be nice if the house was clean for them."

Romano climbed to his feet and stood on his tiptoes to peer curiously over the counter-top, "like I would do something nice for those bastards," he grumbled, wiping his face madly when the smell of the onions stung his eyes.

"Romano, those are my friends," Spain reprimanded, depositing the onions into the pan with the peppers. "Don't rub your eyes, it'll make it worse," he added, grabbing a plump tomato and placing it on the cutting board.

The boy blinked his tears away and padded over to the kitchen table, grabbing a chair and pushing it noisily against the terracotta floor. When he met resistance against the kitchen cabinets, he climbed up onto the seat, leaning his body onto the counter to steady his shaky footing.

"What are you doing?" Spain sighed, the tiniest hint of aggravation in his voice from the Italian's constant distractions.

"I'm gonna help, Bastard!" Romano scoffed, appalled that he would be asked such a stupid question.

Spain turned from his work to watch the small boy wobble precariously on his makeshift ladder, "I don't think so, Romanito. There's too many ways you could hurt yourself," he smiled apologetically.

"For the last time, Spain you jerk, I am not clumsy!" Romano fumed, instantly enraged by the sensitive subject. He stomped his foot in protest, only to knock the chair off balance and send himself careening to the side. Spain was there in an instant, grabbing the boy under his armpits and easily hoisting him to the steady floor below. He turned to the chair then, wordlessly carrying it to the table before making his way back to his lackey. He kneeled down in front of the little Italian, patting the boy's head in an effort to abate his mounting irritation.

"I do have a chore that needs to be done, Romano, but only a very qualified person can handle it," he teased, hoping to capture the boy's attention.

Romano, intent on staying mad at his guardian, couldn't help but lift an eyebrow in curiosity. "Hmph," he mused, his response enough to tell Spain the boy was interested.

"You see," Spain continued, desperately trying to think up a task to get the boy out of his hair while he finished cooking. "Flowers!" He spurted suddenly, making the Italian jump back in shock.

"Flowers?" Romano demanded, trying to hide the fact that he had been startled by his guardian's outburst.

"Yes! What's a nice meal without a bouquet of fresh flowers for the table?" Spain asked seriously. "Ah, but unfortunately I just don't have the eye for such things," he lamented, "I never pick out the right colors, I suppose I just don't have art in my blood," he cried, dramatically throwing his arms out in feigned dismay.

Romano folded his arms and frowned, "but it's raining."

Spain shrugged and stood back up, turning to the stove to stir the contents of the sizzling pan. "It's ok if you don't think you can do it, Romano, it's a hard task." He nodded absentmindedly, "if only Veneziano were here, I'm sure he'd be great at it."

The Italian let out a gasp of frustration at that, stomping over to his caretaker to punch him in the leg. "I could do way better than that idiot!" He growled, anger boiling inside him when he realized Spain had begun to ignore him once more. "Fine!" He yelled, turning on his heel and stomping out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going, Romano?" Spain called after him, not bothering to turn around.

"I'm going to pick flowers you goddamn bastard!" He cursed, straining on his tiptoes to reach his red raincoat.

"Don't be longer than an hour!" Spain yelled after the boy, wincing lightly when he heard the door slam shut.

* * *

Romano blinked as raindrops dripped from the ends of his hair onto his nose, he was actually enjoying being out in the nasty weather, though he would never admit it to Spain. He reared back, steadying himself before charging forward and splashing into a huge puddle, laughing contentedly as mud and water splattered up into his face before kneeling down to sink his fingers into the mushy, soft ground below. He sat there for a while, completely forgetting his appointed task as he carefully constructed a mud castle for all the wiggling pink worms that were popping up around his feet.

"I said stay in there!" Romano scolded when a worm abandoned its newly constructed home and attempted to sink back into the ground. He reached to grab it and flinched back when it squirmed around wildly, "agh, stay still, you!" He yelled, scooping the stilling worm into his cupped hands and pressing it against the outer wall of the squishy fortress.

"What are you doing out here, Romanoooo," a voice suddenly sounded behind the boy, sending chills down his back.

"France!" He yelped, scrambling to his feet and backing up with his hands held ahead of his chest in defense. "S-stay away!" He warned, shivering when his foot sunk into the muddy mound he had been crafting moments before.

"Why are you out in the rain, if you came to live with me I would never make you play such poor weather," the older country pouted deeply.

"I'm picking flowers!" Romano corrected angrily, whole body tense and ready to dart at the first hint of movement from the Frenchman.

"Why would you want to pick flowers in the rain, my boy?" France folded an arm across his chest and leaned his elbow against it, lowering his head into his hand in thought. "Unless..." he began, before shaking his head resolutely, "no, no that can't be it."

Romano's body loosened a bit as he knit his eyebrows in curiosity, "what can't be it?" He mumbled, trying not to seem overly interested.

"Oh no, no it's nothing, pretend I didn't say anything," France waved his hand dismissively before stopping suddenly and crouching to the ground with a calculating glint in his eye. "Do you really mean you've lived with Spain all this time and you don't know?" He whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no one else was listening in on the conversation.

"Don't know what?" Romano demanded, growing irritated.

"About Conquistador," France breathed, his eerie tone sending shivers up the Italian's spine.

"Conquistador?" Romano repeated under his breath, wracking his brain to find some connection to the name.

"Yes, my boy, you mean you really don't know," France sighed, tapping his chin in contemplation. "I suppose I should tell you for your own safety, though I wouldn't want to evoke the wrath of Conquistador on myself."

Romano's heart lurched at that, fear radiating from his fingertips to his chest, "p-please tell me," He begged desperately, pride forgotten.

France took in the boy's terrified expression and smirked,"on one condition," he pointed a finger at the Italian. "You must promise not to speak a word of this conversation. Not to anyone, and especially not to Spain."

Romano nodded his head wildly in agreement.

"I want you to say you promise me, Romano. This is very serious, if any one finds out, I'm afraid Conquistador will surely come after both of us."

"I promise!" Romano squeaked, hands grasping the hem of his shirt in apprehension. "Tell me!"

France nodded solemnly, "good," he said, before taking in a deep breath. "Conquistador," he began, voice barely above a whisper, "is a legend around this area. It is said that he seems like a normal man: friendly, cheerful smile, wavy brown hair and green eyes, you know, the regular features." France grinned wickedly when Romano let out a tiny gasp. "However," the older country continued, "he is not a regular man. His body is a disguise, one that he sheds late into the night in order to spy on naughty little boys and girls."

"Spy?" Romano asked, gulping noisily.

"Oui, spy. Romano, have you ever noticed a dark shadow in your closet or under your bed? What about the blackness right outside your door?" France paused when Romano nodded slightly. "That is Conquistador."

The Frenchman barely held back a laugh when Romano squealed and threw his hands over his mouth. "B-but why would he spy," the boy's muffled voice sounded through his clenched fingers.

"Why? To find out which children are ripe for harvest, of course!" France said as if the answer were obvious.

"Harvest?" Romano shivered.

"Yes, you see Conquistador has to be very careful about which children he picks. The good ones are too hard to capture, they don't stray from their parents, but the bad ones," France's voice lowered even more and Romano took a few hesitant steps closer to better hear the older country's words against the coursing rain. "The bad ones are perfect for harvest. They get fattened up by eating too many sweets, they get watered by playing in the rain and they get sun by loafing around outdoors instead of doing chores. And," France continued, "no one complains when they go missing."

Romano screamed and France fell back into the mud in surprise. "Ah, I've said too much," France said, cursing when he saw the mud on his pants.

"N-no, please! Why do they go missing?" Romano pleaded, desperately grabbing a handful of the Frenchman's pants leg.

"I don't know," France teased, staring at the overcast sky in mock contemplation.

"Please!" Romano begged desperately.

France sighed and shrugged his shoulders, slouching to the ground once more. "Are you sure you want to know?" He asked, staring intensely at the Italian.

Romano screwed his eyes shut and nodded his head violently. "Yes, please tell me, please!"

"Well," France paused, purposefully building tension in the small boy, "haven't you ever wondered why tomatoes grow so abundantly in this country?"

Romano's face blanched as he thought of all the times he had watched Spain talking to the growing tomatoes, cuddling them tenderly as if they were children. "N-no," he shouted in disbelief, stumbling backwards and grabbing desperately at his soaked hair. "No, I don't believe you Bastard, it's not true!" He yelled, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

France shrugged and straightened himself up again. "Believe what you want, my boy," he said, turning to make his way to Spain's house, "but just remember, my home is always open to you, and I would never let anyone turn you into a tomato." He called over his shoulder, grinning wickedly.

Romano stood completely still, watching silently as the Frenchman faded further and further from view. His heart thumped heavily against his chest as his mind raced. There was no way it was true, no way. Spain would never do those things, he was stupid and a bastard, but not evil. At least he didn't think so.

"Romano!" A distant voice sounded, making the Italian jump in shock. "Hurry up, dinner's ready!"

The boy started to race back to the house, he had almost made it home when he slid to a stop. He had forgotten the flowers, he realized, and even though he didn't believe France, he didn't want to upset his caretaker. Not because he was scared of him or anything, he reassured himself, he just didn't feel like being scolded. He scrambled over to some bushes, quickly piling shrubbery against his chest, not caring what he grabbed. When his arms were sufficiently filled he sprinted the rest of the way to the house, stopping only when he reached the porch to remove his muddy boots and raincoat.

"I'm home!" He yelled eagerly when he stepped inside the warm entryway. He padded over to the living room, pausing hesitantly outside the door as he heard three deep voices laughing and chatting. Finally, he pushed into the room, "I'm home," he said again, quickly adopting a scowl on his rain-soaked face.

"So you are," Spain smiled, "and you brought the flowers!"

"Mm" Romano grumbled, shaking his head and sending an excess of water droplets splattering to the floor.

"Ah, you're soaked!" Spain laughed, standing from the couch to tousle his lackey's drenched hair. "Why don't you go put those flowers in a vase and then go change into some dry clothes so we can all have dinner?" The older country suggested, pushing Romano lightly towards the kitchen while he turned to get a rag and clean up the puddle the boy had left behind.

The Italian walked into the kitchen, balancing the handful of flowers as he dug through the cupboards for a vase. He finally found one under the sink and plopped the plants into it. He held the vase carefully, deciding he'd get Spain to fill it with water later, rather than climb onto a chair and repeat his incident from earlier. He made his way to the table, stretching his arms up over his head to place the flowers on it's surface, only to scream and lose his grip, sending the vase crashing to the floor into a million pieces. He stared wide-eyed at his forearms as a bright red hue spread from his fingertips to his elbow. 'It can't be,' his mind raced, completely unconcerned with the glass that lay scattered around his feet.

"Romano, what happened?" Spain ran into the room, breaking the Italian from his coursing thoughts as he desperately hid his arms behind his back.

"I-I slipped." He said, trying his best to act as unsuspecting as possible.

"Are you hurt?" Spain asked incredulously, eying the way his lackey held his arms awkwardly behind his back.

"N-no! I'm fine!" Romano spurted, scowling for affect.

Spain cocked his head to the side, still unsure, "well don't move, I'm going to clean this mess up." The older country said, exiting the room for a moment before rushing back in with a broom and dustpan. Romano moved his arms around awkwardly as Spain swept, trying desperately to keep his reddening skin out of his guardian's line of sight.

When the last bit of glass had been removed from the floor, Romano bolted. "I'm going to go shower," he yelled over his shoulder as he scrambled his way up the stairs, "go ahead and eat without me!"

Romano breathed a sigh of relief when he finally made it into his bedroom, he leaned his back against the closed door and waited to catch his breath. When his heart had finally slowed its rapid pace, he padded his way into the bathroom, struggling to remove his damp shirt. He stared at himself in the mirror, craning his neck so he could examine his back and shoulders. So far only his arms were inflicted, but who knew how long the rest would take, he thought bitterly, warm tears blurring his vision.

"Tomate?" A gentle voice sounded from the door, making Romano blanch in terror. "Romano?" Spain called out again, knocking lightly on the door and slowly easing it open when he didn't receive a reply.

The boy stared wide-eyed at the opening door, cursing at himself for forgetting to lock it. "No!" The boy screamed desperately, backing up until he bumped into the wall.

"Tomate?" Spain stared at the trembling Italian as he made his way into the bathroom, confusion knitting his brows as he walked towards the boy. "Is everything-"

"Please don't harvest me!" Romano interrupted, sinking to the floor as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Spain stepped back, stupefied as he watched the boy cry. "What are you-"

"Please, Spain, I'll be good!" Romano continued to plead desperately, "just please don't turn me into a tomato!"

Spain stood still for a minute, trying to figure out what his lackey meant as he listened to the boy sob desperately into his knees. Finally he gave up trying to decode the message, "a tomato?"

Romano nodded into his legs, "yes, France said," he hiccuped as he choked back a sob, "that you turn bad kids into tomatoes."

"He said what?" Spain asked in disbelief.

"I promise I'll be good, Spain, please, just please give me a second chance." Romano continued to plead, ignoring the question. "Just take this away," he cried, extending his red and blistered arm for the older country to see.

"Dios mio, what did you do?" Spain gasped at the sight of the rash, ghosting his fingers around the small appendage as he tried to figure out what had happened.

"What?" Romano sniffed, lifting his flushed, tear-stained face at the sound of his caretaker's concerned voice. "Didn't you do this?"

Spain stared at his lackey in disbelief, "of course not, Roma, how could I-" he gasped suddenly and stared at the small Italian with wide-eyes. "The flowers," he realized, "you didn't pick any of those tall white flowers in the shrubs about 15 yards from the house did you?"

Romano shrugged, he honestly couldn't remember with all that had happened.

"Those flowers are poisonous, mi tomate," Spain explained, tenderly brushing Romano's soaked bangs from his forehead. "They irritate the skin and make you break out in a rash."

Romano stared intensely at his caretaker, "s-so," he began hesitantly, "does that mean you're not going to harvest me and turn me into a tomato?"

Spain smiled sweetly and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the Italian's forehead. "You're already my little tomate, what would I need to do that for?" He reassured, using his thumb to wipe the tears from the small boy's eyes.

A deep blush formed on Romano's cheeks when he realized he'd been tricked by the Frenchman. "Spain?" The boy asked, glancing up at his caretaker.

"Hm?" Spain responded simply, searching around the bathroom for some ointment to place on his lackey's irritated arms.

"Do you think you could turn France into a tomato?" Romano asked seriously.

Spain turned from his task searching through the medicine cabinet to smile reassuringly at his lackey. "Sadly, Roma, I lack the ability to turn him into a fruit, but that's not going to stop me from grinding him into a pulp."


	7. Attic

Romano sat wide awake in his bed, flicking his eyes from side to side as his heart thumped in his chest. He pulled his quilt up to his chin and willed his body to sink into the mattress. 'Stupid Spain and his stupid ghost stories,' he thought bitterly as another creak sent him jumping in fright. Romano heard a scratch at his window and shot his head to the source, his logic told him it was the combination of wind and the large tree outside making the noise, but all he could think about were the stories of witches and dead wives and ghost pirates that all seemed desperate to steal the souls of young children like himself.

Finally his fear reached a fever pitch and he threw himself out of bed, lunging desperately into the hall as he sprinted to Spain's bedroom. Romano pounded desperately when he reached the older country's door, quickly wrenching it open and slamming it behind him as soon as he heard a sleepy "come in."

"What's wrong, Romano?" Spain asked, staring confused at his panting lackey while propping himself up on his elbows and trying to suppress a yawn.

"I-it, I mean I-I," Romano started, embarrassment settling in now that fear was slowly exiting his body.

"You didn't wet the bed again, did you?" Spain leaned forward a little to examine his lackey's pants, only to lean back against the headboard when he saw that they were dry.

Romano's face burned as he stomped over to Spain's bedside to punch the older country in the arm. "I don't do that anymore, Bastard," he seethed, turning his back from the bed and tucking his head again his chest to pout.

Spain laughed a little, slowly becoming more lucid as he leaned towards the Italian and nuzzled his nose into the back of his head, upsetting the soft brunette tendrils as he breathed heavily into the boy's hair. "You're right, mi tomate, I'm sorry," he cooed, gently placing his hands on the boy's shoulder to rotate his body back towards the bed. "Now tell me what brings you here."

Romano allowed his body to be positioned by Spain, he begrudgingly enjoyed being coddled by his caretaker, even if he would die before admitting it. "I just, I thought you might be scared, so I came to see if you wanted me to sleep with me tonight." The Italian mumbled finally, still refusing to wrench his eyes from the floor.

The older country desperately held back the chuckle that was moving it's way up his throat, his little lackey's ego had been wounded enough tonight and Spain knew the best course of action was to play along with the boy's scheme. "While that is thoughtful of you," Spain said after a while, lovingly combing Romano's rumpled hair behind his ears, "I think I'll manage alone."

Fear flickered briefly in Romano's eyes when he realized he was about to sent back to his room. His mind quickly churned as he tried to decide what was more important: his pride or his comfort. He robotically stepped back from his guardian's touch and made his way to the door, scowling as he stiffly reached an arm up to the handle.

"Romano," Spain interjected suddenly, making the boy spin his head around in desperation. "There is one thing I need your help with," Spain paused, grinning inwardly when he saw the hopeful look on his lackey's face.

"Well what is it, Bastard, I'm tired!" Romano yelled back, still stubbornly trying to hide his uneasiness at the idea of sleeping alone.

"Well, it's the attic." Spain decided finally, "I'm always hearing things up there. I think it's just that it needs to be cleaned out so the ghosts have space to move around, but I'm scared to clean up there myself."

"It's probably just squirrels," Romano interrupted, frowning angrily at his guardian's stupidity.

Spain closed his eyes and laughed, scratching the back of his head, "Ah, yes well you're probably right, and that's why I need your help, Romano." The Italian folded his arms against his chest, not only was he being sent back to his room, but he was being asked to clean. He was just thinking about what an awful night it had been when a thought occurred to him.

"S-so you're scared of the noises?" Romano asked, taking a hesitant step away from the door to peer at his caretaker's expression.

"Ah, hm," Spain said simply, nodding.

"W-well, how about I sleep with you tonight then, but just tonight, until we clean out the attic." Romano shouted, balling his fists in anticipation.

Spain studied his lackey for a moment, stunned that his plan had worked so well, "So you'll sleep with me tonight..."

"So you won't be scared." Romano interjected irritably.

"And then help me clean tomorrow?" Spain finished, cocking his head to the side in feigned bewilderment.

"Si," Romano said simply, nodding his head once.

"What a wonderful lackey I have!" Spain squealed, scrambling from his bed to wrap his arms around the squirming Italian.

"Lemme go, Bastard!" Romano grumbled, brushing his hands over his night shirt in exasperation when Spain finally lowered him back to the ground. Without waiting for permission, the Italian walked quickly to Spain's side of the bed, pulling himself onto the mattress and curling up into the warm spot left by the body that had once occupied it. Spain just shook his head and laughed, the boy had the weirdest ways of showing affection, and he loved him for it. The older country walked to the boy's side, brushing the Italian's hair out his eyes and laying a soft kiss on his temple, before turning off the lamp and walking to the other side of the bed.

Spain pulled down the covers and scooted in close to Romano, pulling the blankets back over their bodies once he was situated. He wrapped an arm around the small boy and leaned his forehead into the base of his neck, smiling contentedly at being allowed the close contact. He would have to tell Romano ghost stories more often, he decided.

* * *

Romano slowly opened his eyes, squinting through bleary vision at the unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up, wincing slightly at the pressure of his full bladder, and glanced down at his sleeping caretaker. Romano couldn't help but note the slight smile the man wore even when unconscious, before struggling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He sighed with relief as he washed his hands, nose tickling from the faint flowery smell as he clapped his palms together and slowly parted them to make an iridescent wall.

"What are you up to?" Spain's voice broke Romano's concentration, making the transparent barrier pop when his hands jerked involuntarily.

"Spain!" He yelped indignantly when the man laid a hand on his head, the other reaching into the medicine cabinet to retrieve his toothbrush.

Spain ignored the outburst and laid his toothbrush on the counter, handing Romano his own, and carefully squeezed a line of toothpaste over the bristles. "Don't forget what you promised me, tomate," Spain said through a mouthful of peppermint suds when he had put the toothpaste away and started polishing his teeth vigorously.

"What?" Romano squawked around his own foam-filled mouth.

Spain spit into the sink and scooped some water into his mouth, sloshing it around a while before spitting that out, too, and wiping his lips with the hand towel next to the counter. "You said you'd help me clean the attic today," he replied while Romano carefully brushed his tongue, gagging when he let the toothbrush plunge too far. "Careful," the older country added thoughtfully, rubbing the boy's back lightly before his hand was swatted away.

"I don't feel like it," Romano scowled when he had finally finished with his teeth. He stood on tip-toes to place his toothbrush back in the holder and frowned deeply when Spain plucked it from his fingers and put it up for him.

"But Romano," Spain smiled crookedly as he teased the boy, "are you saying you like sleeping with me?"

"W-what!" Romano sputtered, a deep blush forming on his cheeks. "Of course not, you Pervert!"

"But I told you the noises in the attic scare me, so unless we clean it out you'd have to sleep with me again." Romano's eyes widened as he realized what his caretaker was implying.

"Fine, Bastard. We'll clean it." Romano growled, pride taking over once more as he stomped out of the bathroom and towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Spain called after him, leaning his upper body out of the bathroom as he watched the boy disappear into the hall.

"To change!" Romano snapped back, not bothering to turn around.

"Make sure you put on old clothes!" Spain hollered after him, laughing to himself lightly when he was certain the boy was out of earshot.

Romano padded into his bedroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him as he glanced out the window at the overcast sky and silently cursed the tall tree that stood so close to his bedroom, reaching for him with it's long limbs. "You're the reason I have to work today, stupid tree." He grumbled while struggling to pull his nightshirt from over his head. After he had finished undressing he dug through his dresser till finding a pasta-stained shirt and a pair of pants with a hole on each knee. Spain never let him throw out his old clothes, no matter how threadbare they were. Once dressed, the Italian started back for the hallway, hesitating slightly while he considered brushing his hair, but ultimately deciding it wasn't worth it.

"Look at my little ragamuffin," Spain laughed when Romano padded into sight. The older country was already in the hall, pulling down the panel from the ceiling that folded out to reveal a small set of stairs into the attic.

Romano crossed his arms tightly and scowled, "you're the one who told me to put on old clothes," he grumbled.

Spain glanced over his shoulder at the angry boy and laughed, "I know, I think you look cute!" He beamed, turning from the stairs to tousle the boy's already tangled hair.

"Idiot," Romano spat, ducking under his caretaker's hand and hurrying up the rickety stairway. "Let's get this over with so I don't hang out with a bastard like you anymore." He called down angrily. Romano glanced around the room as he waited for his guardian to join him, pale sunlight filtered in through breaks in the paneling, illuminating small specks of dust as if they were stars. White tarps lay over large mounds of junk and, judging by the earthy and slightly moldy smell filling the air, they had been there a while.

"You ready to get started?" Spain asked, gently placing a hand on his lackey's shoulder.

"Hm," Romano sounded in agreement, shrugging off the older country's touch and moving to the closest tarp. "What's up here?" He asked, curiosity overtaking his commitment to appearing ambivalent as he grasped his hands around the stiff, white fabric and pulled forcefully.

"I'm not really sure to be honest." Spain admitted, moving behind the Italian to assist in removing the tarp. "Some of this stuff has been here before me," he pulled once aggressively and the cloth loosened its hold on the items beneath it and slid to the floor in a puddle of white folds.

Romano stared up at his guardian, eyes wide with wonder. It was hard to imagine someone older than Spain, let alone someone older than Spain that had once occupied this house. Romano knew that the countries were constantly changing and merging and dying and being born, but somehow he had started to convince himself that he and Spain would stay the way they were forever. He knew it was a stupid thought, signs that Romano was growing seemed to appear every day, and certainly his experience with his Grandpa and Austria had proved that alliances fail and countries die. But at some point Romano had begrudgingly realized that, for maybe the first time in his life, he was happy. He liked living with Spain and being coddled and loved unconditionally. He tried desperately to convince himself he wasn't content, because Spain was stupid and a bastard, and obviously he didn't care that much about Romano's feelings. If he did he wouldn't let the him get so attached to the older country, because if something happened to Spain wouldn't Romano be even worse off than he was before? Wasn't knowing love and then having it taken it away worse than never knowing what you were missing out on?

"Everything ok, Roma?" Spain asked as he continued around the attic, removing tarps. Romano sat on the balls of his feet, lost in thought as he fiddled with the open clasp of a unadorned chest.

"It's too dusty," Romano pouted, hiding the slight blush on his cheeks in the crook of his arm as he gave an exaggerated cough.

Spain nodded knowingly while he gathered up another tarp in his hands and threw it to the corner of the attic. "I haven't been up here in a long time so things have gotten pretty dirty," he said as he walked over to his lackey to peer over what was distracting the boy's attention.

"Oh, look, I haven't thought of this in a long time," he smiled lightly as he knelt down to Romano and eased the lid open on the simple wooden chest. The Italian let his fingers rest on the lip of the box as he looked over the edge. Inside were a few old toys and random trinkets, he spied a clumsily made clay item and studied it curiously.

"What is this thing?" He asked, growing cross at the chalky, ill-formed mass.

"It's a squirrel, can't you tell?" Spain laughed, plucking the sculpture from his lackey's fingers and turning it over in his hands as he eyed it thoughtfully.

Romano grew bored of the misshapen creation and scanned the contents of the chest again, this time pulling a grimy blue blanket from the pile. "Ew," he moaned, tossing the stained cloth to the side and reaching an arm into the case to comb through the random trinkets. He didn't understand why someone would save this junk, there were crinkly leaves, wilted dandelions, papers with noodles glued sloppily to their surfaces, and a few chipped and broken toys.

Romano was just about to suggest they lug the chest down to be thrown out when Spain gently scooted the boy away and closed the lid carefully, "We'll keep this," he said simply, pushing the box closer to the wall so it would be out of the way.

Romano stood dumbfounded, "Why do you want to save this junk?" He demanded, stomping his foot and upsetting a cloud of dust.

Spain waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air around him, "these items are precious to me, Roma." He said simply, chuckling a little at his lackey's dumbfounded face.

"But why, Spain you idiot? There's nothing worth keeping in there, the ghosts are going to be mad if we make them live with this stuff," Romano continued, walking next to Spain and picking up the malformed squirrel sculpture that sat beside the older country. He stared at his caretaker, both appalled and confused. He knew Spain didn't have the best taste, but this was pushing it.

"I was going to put that in my room," Spain explained, reaching to pull the figurine from Romano's grip and laughing half-heartedly when the boy jerked his hand away.

"C'mon Romano, that thing means a lot to me, please give it back to your boss." He said seriously.

Romano tensed a little when he realized Spain wasn't smiling. He shrugged his shoulders and gripped the object tightly in frustration before begrudgingly holding it out to the older country, "I just don't get why you'd want something so ug-" he started, flinching when he felt the delicate clay squirrel snap into two pieces beneath his fingertips. "Ah-" He stated, blinking when he opened his palm and let the object fall to ground and disintegrate further.

Romano looked expectantly at his caretaker, watching nervously as Spain stared at him blankly for a silent minute before sighing and grinning slightly. "It's ok," he said, shaking his head a little as he leaned forward to ruffle Romano's hair. The Italian stepped back from the touch, staring at his caretaker with unbelieving eyes.

"You're not going to yell at me?" He asked, face screwing into an unrecognizable emotion, "you're not mad?"

Spain knit his eyebrows in confusion before standing back up and brushing the dust off his knees, "it was an accident, Roma." He replied, ignoring his lackey's fixed stare.

"N-not really," Romano barked, "I was being careless, I knew I was holding it too tightly," the boy gulped heavily, "I wanted it to break, I wished that it would!"

"What's done is done," Spain replied cooly, cocking his head to the side slightly at his lackey's confession. "Why are you so content on me getting angry at you, Roma?"

Romano pressed his chin into his chest and glared at the floor, balling his fists at his sides as he mumbled "Spain you stupid jerk."

"Wh-" Spain started, gasping slightly when Romano suddenly stormed past him and down the attic stairs. "Wait, where are you going, Romano?" Spain called after the boy, standing disoriented before finally snapping back to reality and running after the boy.

Spain sprinted around the large house, opening every door as he yelled out his ward's name. "Romano!" He called frantically, calming down when he heard a small sniffle echo in the hall from the Italian's room. Spain slowed his pace and padded to the boy's quarters, pausing in the doorway when he couldn't immediate see his lackey. "Romano?" He called in softly, making his way to the other side of the bed when he heard another tiny sniffle.

"What did I do?" Spain asked perplexed when he saw Romano curled with his back against the side of the bed, knees to his chest. The older country made his way to the window sill and sat on it with a sigh, staring at his lackey as fat teardrops kept making their way down his red-tinted cheeks.

Romano sat with his gaze fixed on Spain's knees, refusing to grant the older country the privilege of looking him in the eyes. "I hate you," Romano choked out, missing the hurt look that crossed his caretaker's face.

"I'm sorry," Spain said after a long moment, unsure of what the boy wanted from him.

"No!" Romano shouted, scrambling to his feet and crossing to where Spain sat to punch him in the arm. "I said I hate you!" He reiterated, punching the older country again for emphasis.

Spain grabbed the boy by the wrists and forced him to sit next to him on the sill. "I'm sorry, w-what can I do?" He asked desperately, growing frustrated with the situation.

Romano just sobbed harder at that and squirmed vigorously beneath his guardian's strong grip. "No, dammit, no that's wrong!" He cried, pulling his feet up and pushing them against Spain's thigh in a vain attempt to break free.

"What's wrong?" Spain asked firmly, mentally willing the boy to calm down.

"You're not supposed to act this way when I'm bad," Romano screamed, finally stilling his body and staring Spain in the eyes, "don't you care about me at all?" He demanded, panting heavily.

Spain's face softened as he pulled the Italian's limp body forward by his captured wrists and wrapped his arms around his back, holding him firmly to his chest. "Of course I care, Romano, of course I do." He cooed softly, repeating the mantra over and over as the boy sobbed heavily into his grimy shirt.

"N-no, stop," Romano mumbled half-heartedly through his sobs. Spain just shushed the boy and continued rubbing his back until Romano jerked against his hold. "No!" He yelled, louder this time when Spain finally relinquished his grasp. "I-if you care about me th-then, then you shouldn't be so nice," he said seriously, choking around painful sobs.

Spain stared sympathetically, wanting to hug the boy and tell him everything would be ok, but knowing the Italian would never allow it in this state. "I'm sorry, Roma," he finally managed, "I just don't understand what's wrong."

Romano let out an exasperated groan and threw his eyes to the ceiling, "just send me back to Austria." He cried, grabbing at his face and digging his fingernails into his forehead.

Spain was devastated, he loved his lackey so much, he tried to keep him happy and comfortable, and yet he was asking to go back and live with Austria. Spain felt his chest clench painfully, "if that will make you happy, then," he paused, breathing heavily to keep his voice from wavering, "then I guess I'll let you go."

Romano shook his head softly, "o-of course it w-won't make me happy," he choked out, "th-that's the point!"

Spain felt the grip on his heart loosen, he wasn't pleased that his lackey was crying, but he was relieved that he was more content living with Spain than his former boss. "Then why, Roma?" He asked simply.

"B-because," Romano hiccuped, grounding the base of his palms into his eyes, "l-look what happened to the squirrel!"

"This is all because the squirrel broke?" Spain was becoming more baffled with every statement that left his the Italian's mouth.

Romano finally let his hands fall from his face, sniffing heavily as he took in the older country's tender expression. "What if what happened to that squirrel," Romano licked the salty tears from his lips, "what if that happens to you?"

Realization settled into Spain's eyes and he let his mouth gape open slightly. "Nothing's going to happen to me, mi tomate," he said simply, leaning forward to tousle the boy's hair comfortingly.

Romano jerked back and knit his brow in frustration, "it's not that easy!" He shouted angrily, "you can't just say, 'I'll be fine,' and that's that! Even now..." He sucked in a deep breath when his body was wracked with another painful sob, "even now you're away for a long time sometimes, and when you come back you're all bloody and cut up and, and what I'm supposed to do, Spain!" Romano cried, throwing his palms down on the window sill in front of him and bowing his head down to hover over them. "What am I supposed to without you?"

Spain's heart fluttered against his chest in an odd combination of joy and overwhelming sadness. He placed a gentle hand on his lackey's shoulder and pushed the boy up, leaning into to place a gentle kiss on the child's ear, and eyebrow, and nose, and hand, and all the places that were hurting but had no wounds. "I can't promise that I'll be around forever, Romano," he said after a long while, grabbing the boy by the waist and pulling him into his lap. "And I can't promise that you'll be around forever, either." He admitted when the boy didn't respond, "and that's why every moment I can love you and cuddle you and spoil you is so important to me."

Romano nodded lightly, not reacting when Spain brushed the tangled hair from his forehead. "I'm scared," he croaked out, wincing at the weakness in his voice.

"We all are, it's part of life," Spain said sadly, giving Romano a tight squeeze, "and that's why we've just got to enjoy each moment we're given together." Romano didn't respond, he understood what his caretaker had said and he was old enough to realize there was nothing Spain could do to make it better. The two sat in silence for a long while, enjoying the sound of each other breathing as the pale early spring light grew dim.

"I still don't understand why you wanted to keep that crap," Romano said after a long while, sighing slightly when Spain's chest rumbled with laughter.

"It's sentimental," Spain replied simply, he supposed too much time had passed for Romano to remember the items in the box and how they were all trinkets saved from his childhood.

"You're so weird." Romano replied, clicking his tongue in annoyance at not receiving a full explanation.

Spain shrugged. "You know, I was afraid you had run away today," he said thoughtfully, resting his chin on Romano's head and gazing contentedly out the window.

"I was going to, but then I remembered what I was wearing." Romano replied dryly, swiping the back of his wrist across his running nose.

Spain closed his eyes and laughed deeply, pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside table and handing it down to his lackey. "Guess I'll just have to destroy all your clothes so I can keep you around me all the time."

"Bastard," Romano grumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue and smiling slightly.


End file.
